


A Blaze of Light in Every Word

by Zoya1416



Category: Rivers of London
Genre: Another betrayal by Lesley May, F/M, Hope, Leonard Cohen - Freeform, Love, Post Lies Sleeping, Pregnancy, Song: Hallelujah, Suspension from the Folly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24953386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: When Peter struggles with his suspension, Bev finds an unlikely song to reassure him.
Relationships: Beverley Brook/Peter Grant
Kudos: 17





	A Blaze of Light in Every Word

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It Doesn't Matter Which You Heard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6995857) by [Zoya1416](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416). 



> This came about when I thought of the title and wanted Peter to have something to think about other than his suspension.  
> The fic is not exactly a remix of my previous work, but was inspired by it."Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen has multiple verses, which have been edited, cut out, and rearranged by multiple vocalists. I do the same here. Even if certain lyrics are unfamiliar, they're canon and part of the original song.

Beverley watched Peter move through her house without purpose, touching his magic textbooks, then moving on, walking into the kitchen and staring at the dirty dishes. She bristled and thought about telling him it was her house, and he had no right to criticize how she kept it, but then he walked out again without saying a word. He lay in their bed at night, but didn’t touch her, and woke in the small hours and wandered more. He talked to the Nightingale and worked on the Folly's reorganization, but still seemed lost when he was alone.

He’d been this way since Lesley May shot the evil Isaac, and though she resented even the idea that the betrayer had any hold over her man, she couldn’t simply demand of Peter that he get over her, and her repeated cruelty. But as time went on, finally she'd had enough. Peter had once played a song for her which had combined loss and hope, sex, love, brokenness and – maybe recovery? At least she thought there was some hopefulness at the end. It took another day before she remembered the name of the song and found it on Youtube.

The lyrics were contradictory, but there had been many versions where they’d been rearranged, verses dropped in one rendition and added back in another; she took a few and reordered them herself. She should be working on her dissertation. _Environmental Benefits of Waterway Reversion_ had sounded much simpler when she’d started. She was restoring her river little by little; it was original research and there was no reason it should take this long. Except there needed to be references and footnotes, and she hated those. The baby moved and put pressure on her bladder, and she had to get up and pee, again. But she wanted to do something for Peter, and maybe this would help. If it didn’t, he could keep moping. 

“Babes, listen to this a minute.”

Peter looked up with a dull glance. He was sitting on Beverley’s lumpy couch, looking out at her river, thinking of nothing. Thinking of a gunshot, blood pooling under Chorley’s head, and Lesley betraying him, again. 

Beverley settled herself next to him, leaning against his shoulder. He felt her braids, and smelled the oil in her hair.

“You told me one time that there was an American song played at a wedding, and it sounded depressing, but then you found more lyrics for it. You said the Nightingale liked it. This is a remix.”

“Okay,” he said, still distracted by the bloody images on continuous loop in his brain. A husky voice and familiar guitar chords broke his thoughts.

_“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord  
That David played and it pleased the Lord  
But you don’t really care for music, do ya?  
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,  
The minor fall, the major lift  
The baffled king composing Hallelujah”_

“Why this now?”

“Shh.”

_She tied you to a kitchen chair  
She broke your throne, she cut your hair,  
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

Peter’s stomach rolled. Once he’d wanted to get into Lesley’s pants, but that was years ago, before her first betrayal. He’d not had her then, and didn’t want her now. 

_Baby I’ve been here before  
I’ve seen this room, I’ve walked this floor  
I used to live alone before I know you  
And I’ve seen your flag on the Marble Arch  
Love is not a victory march_

_And it’s not a cry you hear at night  
It’s not someone who’s seen the light  
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah_

He didn’t cry, but his eyes stung a bit. He wanted to tell Bev to stop the music, but the song moved on to the next verse

_I did my best, it wasn’t much  
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch  
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool ya  
And even though it all went wrong  
I’ll stand before the lord of song  
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah_

Peter didn’t belief in God, and had never imagined standing in judgement before anyone except Seawoll or the Commissioner, but the words were strangely hopeful. Even though it all went wrong - this wasn't the end. I will stand, he thought. I will keep standing up.

_You say I took the name in vain,  
I don’t even know the name,  
But if I did, well really, what’s it to ya?  
There’s a blaze of light in every word  
It doesn’t matter which you heard  
The holy or the broken Hallelujah”_

Nightingale had liked this verse, he remembered, and had him play it again.  


_There’s a blaze of light in every word, it doesn’t matter which you heard, the holy or the broken Hallelujah._

Every word, Nightingale had said, and Peter remembered thinking that Newtonian magic was made of words. He remembered the weeks he practiced saying ‘Lux’ and opening his hand meaningfully, hoping Nightingale was right about magic, and then how hot the ball of light was when it first bloomed on his palm. Every spell he’d got wrong, every impello he’d tinkered with, and Nightingale had frowned on, everything was part of him and – individual moments didn’t matter, perhaps. Success, suspension, his first hot fireball hitting its target, love, betrayal, Nightingale’s formal suits and Bev’s tight T shirt. Watching her rise from her river in the neoprene wet suit, and how she dropped the suit on the bedroom floor and straddled him, water dripping from her cold skin, dreads swinging loose. He closed his eyes, and let the chorus pour through him.

Another verse played, the sensual one some singers cut, and he began to hum it.

_There was a time you let me know  
What’s really going on below  
But now you never show it to me, do you?  
And remember when I moved in you  
The holy dove was moving too  
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

She’d put the last verse on repeat, and he murmured, slipping his arm around her shoulder and stroking her breast. “I think I remember that part. Holy doves didn’t figure in it, though.” He pulled her into his lap and nuzzled her neck as the chorus concluded.

_Hallelujah  
Hallelujah  
Hallelujah  
Halle lu ooo jah…_

She turned to him and kissed him, eager, with tongue, and for one tiny, guilty, instant he flashed to the memory of the ancient blond Beverley doing the same. But it was only one word of his life, and the man vanished, leaving a lovely black woman. 

“Let’s go upstairs.”

“Babes,” she agreed, breathing against his lips. Then she winced. “Just as soon as I go pee again.”


End file.
